The contrast between Giana and Maliyah ran through my head like a PowerPoint presentation all week, too. I couldn’t help but compare them, where one was soft and the other a sharp razor. Maliyah got off on manipulating me, on knocking me down a peg or two, on reminding me just how lucky I was to have her, and how easily I could lose her — just like I had lost her. I used to get off on that, how confident she was, the games she loved to play. It was a thrill, a chase.

But Giana was the opposite.

She knew before I even realized it was an issue that I put others before myself more than I should, that I let Maliyah and even my own family walk all over me because that’s what I’ve always been expected to do. She reminded me every chance she could that I was worthy, that I was good, that I was going somewhere.

My stomach rolled as I adjusted my tie in the dirty mirror of my dorm room, knowing I wouldn’t be able to avoid her tonight. It had been hard enough through the week to ignore texts or tell her I was busy, to not look her way every time she was on the field or in the cafeteria, to adjust my schedule so I wasn’t in the same place with her for too long.

But tonight was the team auction.

It was her event.

And I knew it’d gut me to see her, to be around her, to even be in the same room.

It would kill me.

And yet I craved it.

It was sick and toxic, and I couldn’t discern good from bad anymore, not as I turned to each side and watched my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my hands over the all-black tux I’d rented for the night. I was as much of a mess as I had been when I’d left her at the observatory last week as I turned out the light and made my way out of the dorm, telling my roommate and teammate that I’d meet him at the stadium.

I needed to walk alone.

Fall greeted me as I strolled through campus, ignoring the looks I got from various groups of girls as I passed them. I kept my hands in my pockets, listening to the breeze through the trees and watching as more and more of the colorful leaves fell to the ground.

I would have been lying if I tried to tell myself, or anyone else, that my mom’s situation wasn’t adding to my stress. I’d talked to her every night, and it had been the same every time. She was wasting her days away drinking or doing God knew what else, her words always slurred and garbled through tears when we spoke.